


threats of romance

by feistycadavers



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Come Eating, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Foot Jobs, Intimacy, M/M, Stockings, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/pseuds/feistycadavers
Summary: “You're trying to put them on like socks,” Brian says. “You gotta roll 'em up and on like a condom for your leg.” John just looks at him. Brian sighs. “C'mere.”or, john's bad at ripped stockings and brian's got a stocking kink and is also kinda into feet.





	threats of romance

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T WANNA HEAR NO SHADE FOR WRITING FOOT STUFF
> 
> the boyfriend kinda got me thinking about this concept i had last year again and i thought it was about time i wrote it. especially since i've been feeling Stuck lately and i figured what better thing to do than write something i've never actually written before and see how that goes. for science.
> 
> it's less foot fetish-y than it sounds. it's more stocking fetish-y. also in my defense brian has a foot fetish In Real Life so i couldn't help myself. also i know it's short it was intended to be short.
> 
> i will also hear NO "foot pussy" and/or "fussy" jokes in the comments thank you.
> 
> title from the manson song (it's about john [but really though])

“Criminy,” John mumbles, making a frustrated noise. He's put his foot through a hole in his torn stocking for what feels like the millionth time tonight, and this is only the first leg. He tries again, just rips the hole more. “Goddammit.”

Brian walks in without knocking on the door, then, annoyingly well dressed. He's got his makeup and stage clothes on, torn stockings and knee pads and boots, corset in his hands. He's here to have John help do his body makeup, John figures. Brian's tights are more hole than they are fabric, and John just looks at him.

“How on earth do you get those things on without putting your foot through the holes?” John asks. Brian seems a bit put off, maybe because John's sitting there in his boxer-briefs, but it's not like Brian's never seen him in less clothing. Or more, slightly embarrassing clothing. Brian looks at John's legs, where he's attempting to pull his thigh high on.

“You're trying to put them on like socks,” Brian says. “You gotta roll 'em up and on like a condom for your leg.” John just looks at him. Brian sighs. “C'mere.”

Brian goes over to the couch where John's sitting, kneels in front of him, setting the corset next to John. He takes the stocking off John's leg and starts to gather it up, rolling it in his fingers, till – sure enough, it does look like a condom. Brian pats his thigh and John places his foot there, tentatively.

“Then you just kinda roll it on like this,” Brian says, placing the toe of the stocking over John's before unrolling the entire thing up his leg, up to the middle of his thigh, sliding his fingers under to straighten the silicone band that keeps them up. Brian slides his hands down John's leg, fiddling with the ripped holes, straightening the fabric. John has to admit it feels... awfully nice. Erotic. John rubs his stocking foot on Brian's thigh some, the soft noise of nylon on nylon. Brian looks up at him, narrows his eyes as if to ask John what the fuck he thinks he's doing. John's well aware of Brian's thing for stockings.

“Are you hard?” John asks, his foot sliding dangerously close to the leather layer over Brian's jock strap.

“John,” Brian says, a warning. His eyes say it: he's not yet, but he might be. John just gives Brian the other thigh high, and Brian takes it, expertly rolling it up on itself like he'd done the first one. He smooths his hands over John's leg, then the other, admiring his work. John's foot finds itself sliding further up, between Brian's legs, which part automatically. The hardening curve of Brian's cock fits delightfully well in the arch of John's foot. Brian's breath hitches.

“You like this,” John comments. Brian doesn't say anything. John toes his way between the layer of leather and the layer of cotton, finally feeling the heat of Brian's arousal. Brian whines out loud, hands bracing on John's calf, black painted fingers feeling black nylon. “You _do_. Is it the stockings or my feet?”

“I,” Brian chokes out, looking frustrated. “Kinda both.” John leans down a bit, holds Brian's face in his hands. His skin is soft, powdered white. John pulls at the leather thong with his foot, trying to get it down enough, but it's a little clumsy.

“Can you pull those down for me?” John asks, looking down. “I'm not so dextrous with my feet as I am with my hands.” Brian bites back a smile, pulls the thong and jock down around his knees, face flushing pink under his makeup. John slides his stocking feet over Brian's thighs, up to where Brian's got a hole torn in his tights for his cock. “Easy access?” John remarks.

“Was in a rush when I had to piss once,” Brian admits, and John smiles, runs his toes up the length of his dick. Brian hisses, sucking a sharp breath between his teeth. “John,” Brian whimpers.

“Does that feel good?” John asks, genuinely curious. He lets Brian's cock fit into the arch of his sole again, and Brian ruts into it, not letting his eyes leave John's as he nods. John brings the other arch up, lets his feet circle Brian entirely, and Brian grabs onto John's legs, holding them together.

“Like that,” Brian says, breathless, forehead falling against John's. He still doesn't break their gaze, and John bites back a grin, feeling as Brian starts to fuck the space between his arches. John tightens it a little and Brian sighs a moan, sliding his hands over John's stockings.

“It doesn't feel too rough?” John asks, brushing his fingers through Brian's hair. They're impossibly close, a hair from kissing, Brian's breath hot on John's lips.

“No,” Brian says, looking down, and John looks with him, Brian's cock flushed pink rubbing against black stockings. “Just a little friction – fuck,” Brian whispers, grabbing John's ankles to pull the space between his feet even tighter. John can feel Brian's cock throb, pulls his mouth back up to kiss him, just once.

“It's pretty hot you get off on this,” John murmurs, fingers curling in Brian's hair. “Dirty. I like that.” He's never seen Brian in quite such a mood, and he smiles when Brian whimpers in response. John lowers his voice even further. “Do you want to come on my stockings?”

“Please,” Brian whispers. He's holding John's legs together with an arm around them supporting their weight, the other hand on his thigh, thumbing the lace band. John's folded down on himself, knees to his chest, as close to Brian as he can get.

“Yeah?” John says, holding Brian's head in his hands. “Let me wear the stockings you marked during the show?” Brian nods, fucking into the tight grip of John's arches, wet with precome. “Yeah, good boy.” Brian gasps as John fists his hands in his hair.

“My pretty boy marked with my come,” Brian says quietly, voice strained, but still smirking at the thought.

“All yours,” John breathes. “Want your come.”

“Fuck,” Brian chokes out, gripping tight at the band of John's stocking, sobbing once. “Close, fucking – gonna _come._ ”

“Want you to,” John pleads. “Come on me, give it --” But John doesn't get to finish that thought before he feels Brian come, hips stilling against his heels, cock jerking as it spills hot on his legs. Brian moans weakly, fingers gripping as John works him through it, rubbing with his arches. “Shit, that's really hot,” John whispers. Brian lets go of his legs and John lets them part a few inches, ropes of come arching between them. John gathers some with his fingers, puts it in his mouth.

“Fuck, John,” Brian murmurs, looking down at the stains marking his legs. John paws at Brian's spent cock with his foot, giggling when Brian winces. “Stop it,” he says, grabbing John's ankle. John tries it with his other foot and laughs again as Brian dodges it. “God, you're a shithead.” He grabs his jock and his thong, pulls them up together just to cover himself so John can't sneak attack him again. 

“You're no fun,” John says, reaching for his boots. Brian takes one, unzips it, and John lets Brian put his foot into it and zip back up. He does the same with the other one, adjusting the laces, before he stands on shaky legs, having to grab John's shoulder for his balance. “Careful,” John says. “Still need me to paint on your back?”


End file.
